My Boy Builds Coffins
by AngelWing1138
Summary: My boy builds coffins, he makes them all day. And it's not just for work and it isn't for play. He's made one for himself, one for me too; one of these days, he'll make one for you.


A/N: Happy Hallowe'en! This is a story I wrote about a week ago for like, my favourite holiday EVAR. So I hope you enjoy it! It's subtler than usual 'horror' stories. So I hope you enjoy this style!

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII Characters and Places belong to Square Enix.

* * *

Deep in the grey landscape of England, far from the bustling city of London with its automobiles and fancy new clothing trends was a quiet little village.

The village had cobblestone roads and a few houses scattered about, with lampposts to light the roads at night and a single train station that sat atop the small hill the village rested on. There was a fish market where Mr Lockhart sold fresh fish, a bakery where Mrs Highwind sold the best bread in the county and a shop that sold and fixed clocks, run by Mr Highwind. Just up the road from the bakery was the old church that had existed as long as the village had. The white paint was old and peeling, a few of the shingles missing from the roof; yet the old pastor, a man who called himself Father Wallace, kept the church in the best condition he could and welcomed any and all into his doors to hear the word of God.

Beside the church there was a small graveyard, where the loved ones of those who lived in the village were buried. Each plot of land was kept clean and well-kept, the gravestones faded from the light yet the words were still clear to see even in lamplight. There was a gate around the graveyard, made out of wrought iron and ending in spikes to discourage some of the younger people from going into the site to cause mischief and practice pagan arts among their dead.

Separated from the rest of the community, living on the very edge of the village's boundaries, was a lone building that looked in good condition. It was two stories high, just like all the others, with a black singled roof and white walls. The windowpanes were white, yet the shutters were a dark brown, as was the large wooden door. It had a porch that wrapped around the building and an overhanging roof to cover it from the weather. The railing was white, the columns holding up the overhang the lightest of greys. There was a single chimney to the right side of the building if one were to stand in front of it, and many windows along the front, yet each had a set of dark curtains blocking the sight of within the building. A single rounded tower sprouted on the left side of the building, with windows wrapped around the tower and covered with dark brown shutters; the roof pointed off in a cone shape.

It sat on a plot of land that had a few flowers grown near the front of the house, just below the railing and well groomed. Cutting the building off from the village was a simple fence made out of wrought iron, like that of the graveyard, the bars twining around each other to create beautiful patterns of vines and flowers. The gate stood as tall as Father Wallace, and had a simple latch-lock to the side that anyone could easily lift and enter from the other side.

Yet despite the rich-looking home and the fancy gate that called to people to sneak a peak and find out who lived there, no one dared go near the building. This was because it was the home of the coffin maker, Mr Fair.

Now, Mr Fair was a perfectly pleasant man, and everyone knew this. Whenever he would go into the main part of town to buy his bread or go to church, he would smile and talk to the other villagers in a friendly manner, asking about their lives and their families as was only polite. He sang with the choir, took his communion, helped Mrs Highwind with carrying her heavy sacks of flower and once in a while tinkered with the clocks in Mr Highwind's shop. Yet despite all of this, no one would dare go near his home.

Mr Fair was very good at his job. Extraordinarily good, in fact. He had been approached by everyone in the village multiple times to make a casket for a newly deceased loved one; however, they were not the only ones to go to him. Word had spread about the beautiful caskets which Mr Fair made by hand, causing people from all over to come to their small village and ask for his services. From the poorest of servants to the richest of dukes and counts, Mr Fair had carved and sandpapered and waxed and shined perfect coffins, pouring in his heart and his devotion to his craft. And when he was asked why he put so much effort and time into boxes that would end up in the ground and forgotten in the end, Mr Fair only said that 'he had to'.

He was the coffin maker.

* * *

It was raining.

This was not an uncommon occurrence, the man thought idly to himself as he looked out the window of the carriage. He was not fond of those loud automobiles everyone in London was determined to drive, as they reminded him of deathtraps. He instead preferred to travel in the way his family had travelled for generations before him; horse and carriage. It was just as like to get him to his destination relatively quickly as the automobile, and it didn't cost him anything as he already had his own carriage and driver.

Tired of the dreary landscape before him, the man pulled back and tugged a short chord to draw the black curtain shut, leaving him in relative darkness. He sat back then, folding his gloved hands over his stomach, closing his eyes and allowing his head to drop back against the wall of the carriage.

The man was dressed in the latest fashions of London, wearing a smart dark grey suit and shoes that shone with a good polishing job he had gotten from a boy in the streets. His hair was a fair blond, and oddly spiked; these spikes, which he could not control no matter what he did, were usually hidden underneath a hat of some sort, yet because he was in the privacy of his carriage he didn't see the need to wear it. His shirt collar rose high on his neck, stopping just a bit under his chin and he wore a straight, neat black tie. His vest was of a shiny silver material with a faint pattern imprinted on it, and his gloves were some of the finest he had ever owned.

Cloud Strife dressed to show the world his status.

Suddenly, the carriage stopped and he opened his eyes leisurely, looking at the opposite wall of the carriage with a single raised eyebrow before he tugged his curtain open and poked his head out to see what the delay was. Before he could as his driver what the matter was, however, his dark blue eyes caught sight of a tiny village gate. "We're here then, driver?" he called out, looking to his driver, a man who called himself simply 'Rude' and always wore dark spectacles over his eyes, to see him stepping off of his high perch to open the door.

Cloud quickly ducked back into the carriage, looking over to the tall, dark man as he opened the quietly.

"Yes, sir," he replied then, and Cloud nodded, stepping out of the carriage and looking at the small village in front of him. He put on his hat then, a short top hat made of fine velvet with a simple black ribbon wrapped around the base, covering his head from the rain that was sure to make him sick. "Shall I find an inn, sir?"

"Yes," Cloud replied, digging through his pockets for a moment before pulling out a pouch of money, handing it to Rude. "Use that to pay for our lodgings and then come find me once the arrangements have been made," he commanded gently, looking at the driver for a moment before he nodded and walked towards the gate.

There were a few people about, all quickly walking the streets to reach their destination and get keep as dry as possible. He watched them curiously, staring as a couple with slanted eyes, dark hair and tanned skin walked together towards a little café that was connected to the bakery. An elderly woman with dark brown hair and kind eyes came to the door to greet them, wrapping a blanket around the shivering woman's slim shoulders; she and the man were around the same height.

There was a man at the clock shop's door with dirty blond hair and a hint of stubble on his stubborn shin; in his mouth he had a cigarette, unlit. He had his sleeves unbuttoned and pushed up past his elbows, grease stains and wood stain colouring his otherwise pale arms. The fish market, closed for the time, showed a man with dark hair and a long jacket slightly dated gathering his wares to bring them in the shop to try and keep the fish as fresh as possible. Standing by the door keeping it open and calling out to the man to hurry up was a tall, thin man with a pale complexion and bright, fire red hair that grew to the small of his back; he kept it back with a simple black ribbon.

Having taken in his fill of sight-and-people seeing, Cloud walked towards the bakery where the elderly woman was serving steam cups of hot tea to the strange-looking couple. She looked up when the tinkle of the bell, indicating that someone had entered, sounded within the room. He noted that she had green eyes and laugh lines grooved into the skin of the corner of her eyes.

"Oh, hello there!" she greeted warmly, walking over to him and smiling as she stopped in front of him. "You don't look familiar…would you happen to be visiting our little village?"

"Yes, ma'am," Cloud said, taking off his hat and tucking it under his arm. She nodded, looking over him once. She then looked at him curiously, waiting to see what else she would say. "I was wondering if you could tell me where I can find someone."

"Of course," she said lightly, taking his overcoat from him when he slipped out of it. She hung it on the coat rack near the door, leading him to a small table by the window to sit at. He sat down gratefully, placing his hat on the table and looking at her patiently. "Would you like to have something warm to drink before I answer your question, though? It's very chilly out, and it would not do any good for you to catch a cold."

"Ah, true," Cloud murmured, before he nodded. "I will, then. What do you have?"

"We have multiple mixtures of tea, coffee and hot chocolate."

"I'll have some hot chocolate, please."

"Wait one moment," she said, then turned and walked away. Cloud sat back comfortably in the wooden chair, looking around the small café with a somewhat interested expression. It was a cozy area, warm from the ovens of the bakery and filled with the smells of fresh bread and coffee. He saw a fireplace at the far end, keeping the room warm with a cheerfully burning fire crackling and eating the dry log slowly but steadily. The walls were plain with a few decorations such as a few paintings of fields and valleys, as well as a few photographs, the sepia toned pictures looking at him with hard-to-see expressions and a slightly faded quality, showing they were older.

The furniture was all wood, well crafted and well kept. He could see that there were barely any scratches or gouges in the smooth tabletop. Running a hand over the fine wood, he blinked when a cup of hot chocolate appeared before him. He looked up then, smiling as he saw the bakery woman standing before him.

"Thank you, ma'am."

"My name is Mrs Shera Highwind," she said with a smile, sitting in the chair across from him once Cloud had taken the cup and sipped some of the warm drink. "How does it taste, sir?"

"Very well, thank you. And I am Cloud Strife," he introduced, tipping his head politely. She smiled, nodding back to him before folding her hands in her lap neatly, watching him. He took another sip of his hot chocolate before putting the cup down and looking at her. "Now, Mrs Highwind,"

"Yes, Mr Strife?"

"I was wondering if you could tell me the location of your carpenter. I hear he's very good at what he does, and I have need of his services. I need a casket made for my mother; she has recently died from consumption." Mrs Highwind crossed herself quietly, murmuring a small apology which he waved off. "It was inevitable, and I am not too grieved. My mother and I never did get along well."

"Well," Mrs Highwind said, frowning a little at the last piece of information but knowing better than to comment on it. "The carpenter of the village, Mr Angeal Fair, died a few years ago of smallpox. His son, though, is still around. He doesn't make things like tables or chairs, but he is the best coffin maker in the area. His work has become quite famous; there is a duke who lives near here, and his wife recently died of consumption herself. He had a casket made by Mr Fair and was quite pleased with the work."

"And where does this Mr Fair live?" Cloud asked, wrapping his hands around the warm cup, looking at Mrs Highwind curiously. She seemed to think for a moment before smiling at him politely.

"There is a house behind the church, far away from the rest of the village but still within walking distance. It has brown shutters and white walls, and a gate that wrap around the property. That is where Mr Fair lives and works."

"Thank you," Cloud nodded, finishing his drink and pulling out a larger money pouch than he had given to Rude, looking at Mrs Highwind curiously. "How much is the hot chocolate, Mrs Highwind?"

"Oh, I don't need payment, dear. This was on the house." She stood up then, straightening the dark coloured skirt she wore before looking at him with a polite smile. "I do hope to see you again, Mr Strife. I also hope that you find what you need with Mr Fair."

"Ah, yes, thank you again, Mrs Highwind." Mrs Highwind left him then, going back to the odd-looking couple (who he heard her call 'Yuffie' and 'Tseng'. Odd names, obviously foreigners. Perhaps from the East?). He stood after a moment and picked up his hat, going to the coat rack for his overcoat which he slipped on easily before walking outside. He replaced his hat on his head then, looking on either side of the street for his carriage.

"Are you lookin' fer somethin' sir?"

The blond looked over to see the man from the clock shop looking at him curiously. The cigarette in his mouth was lit now, the smoke drifting almost lazily around him in hazy ribbons. He had a wool salt-and-pepper cap shoved on his head, reminding Cloud vaguely of fishermen from the cost, as well as a pair of gloves that had seen many uses over the years.

"Ah, yes. I'm just looking for my carriage and driver. They were supposed to have found an inn for me."

"Ah, I remember seein' 'em, sir. Dark fella with strange glasses, right?" Cloud nodded and the man pushed himself off of the doorframe, shoving his hands into his pockets and hunching his shoulders near his ears. "They went down the road a bit; there's an inn there, run by the widow Mrs Gainsborough."

"Ah, I see. Thank you…"

"Highwind. My wife's the baker," he jerked his chin towards the café Cloud had just left. "Mind if I ask what yer doin' in a spit town like this?"

"I have need for Mr Fair's services."

"What do you need to see a coffin maker for?"

"A casket, of course," Cloud said smartly, causing Mr Highwind to snort a laugh and grin wolfishly. "Good day, Mr Highwind,"

"Aye, you too, sir."

Cloud nodded and turned towards the direction Mr Highwind had pointed him towards, walking the cobblestone streets. He listened to the rain as it hit the ground, looking forward as he searched idly for his carriage and driver.

"Reno! Grab the last of the display, quickly! I don't want any of this to go bad!"

"Are you kidding me, old man? This is going to go rotten in the middle of the night! Might as well make some use of it and give it to the villagers. The fishermen are returning at the end of the week with more fish for us, anyway."

"We'll make no profit with that way of thinking, Reno. We'll find some way to keep this stock fresh and not lose money."

He glanced over to see the fish market seller and the young redheaded man, obviously named Reno, as they finished up packing up their things and closing down for the day because of the rain. He continued past them, though, not wishing to make idle chatter with anymore of the people here in the rain.

Finally, he found his carriage, just as Rude came out of a large building that must've been the inn Mrs Gainsborough ran. He stepped up to his driver then, grabbing his attention by waving a hand in his peripheral. Rude looked over at him, head tilted curiously before he held out the money pouch he had been given earlier.

"Mrs Gainsborough, the proprietor of the inn, has given you the best room in the inn and myself the room across from it, sir," he said simply. Cloud nodded, taking the bag and tucking it into a pocket.

"Good. Grab our bags then, Rude. We'll turn in for the night."

* * *

When he woke the next day, it was still raining.

He didn't mind the rain hitting against the window as he dressed himself in a dark blue suit, straightening his tie and fixing his lapels on his jacket. Slipping into his overcoat, he decided to forgo the top hat, not caring in the least what the people in this small village thought of his gravity-defying spikes.

He quit his room, locking the door behind him before walking down the hall of the inn and down the hall to a small sitting room where he saw Mrs Gainsborough putting the last touches of breakfast on a buffet table. She turned around just as he stepped in, looking around curiously.

"Ah, you must be Mr Strife," she said with a slightly smile. She had long brown hair that she kept back in a twist at the nape of her neck, her skirt a forest green and high-collared shirt a crisp white. "Would you like to have something to eat?"

"Perhaps one of those muffins I smell," Cloud said with a polite smile, walking towards the table and picking one up. He nodded politely then, looking out the window again. "I planned on going to visit the Mr Fair's residence today to discuss my request."

"Zack?" she inquired politely. He looked to her curiously, raising an eyebrow at her casual way of addressing him. "He's my nephew. I haven't spoken to him in years, however, even though we live in the same village. He keeps mostly to himself, you see."

"Ah," he nodded, before looking at her curiously. "Would you happen to know if he would be at his residence?"

"He'll be there. He rarely leaves unless to come to mass or he needs to buy bread." She smiled a little sadly, pushing back a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "He used to come down all of the time while his father was alive, but when poor Alfred died…Zack kept to himself."

The blond nodded, not wanting to seem rude before he excused himself. "I shall be leaving then, Mrs Gainsborough."

"Hm? Oh, oh yes. Of course, Mr Strife," she smiled, nodding to him slightly. "I shall see you this evening when you retire?"

"Yes," he nodded before he left her, taking a bite of the muffin he had taken as he opened the front door.

He walked down the cobblestone path through the village, ignoring as a few of the locals turned to look at him; a strange man in expensive clothing with spiked blond hair. He finished off his muffin as the buildings around him started to thin until there was nothing but road and a few trees here and there. He looked around curiously, wondering why anyone would want to live so separated when he came upon the house Mr Zack Fair was told to live in.

He looked at it for a moment, appreciating the beauty of the architecture before walking towards the gate. He stared at it for a moment, wondering whether he should knock on it or open it when a slight breeze made his decision for him, opening the gate when it pushed against the wrought iron. Shrugging to himself, he let himself into the grounds, and up the front steps to the door.

Pausing, Cloud rapped on the door with his knuckles a few times before stepping back, folding his hands behind his back and looking at the door patiently. He didn't hear anything for a moment, making him think that perhaps the man was not home when suddenly the door opened.

Before him stood a young man only a few years older than him with dark black hair and almond shaped blue eyes. He had a fair complexion, and his hands had multiple wrapped bandages around the fingers, showing where he had gotten injured in his craft. He wore a simple white shirt, unbuttoned in the front, with the sleeves pushed above his elbows and a vest that was undone, the colour grey. His slacks were dark grey, his shoes scuffed but good, and he had an air about him that was friendly yet lonely.

"Hello?"

Cloud was shocked out of his brief stupor, shaking his head slightly before looking at the man in front of him again. He coughed awkwardly before straightening his posture.

"My name is Cloud Strife. I hear that you are an expert at coffin making; I have need of a casket."

"Ah, I see," Mr Fair smiled then, a friendly, open smile before he stepped back and indicated for the blond to step in. "Please come in, Mr Strife."

"Thank you," Cloud nodded, stepping inside as he took in the house. He glanced out of the corner of his eye as Mr Fair straightened and buttoned up his shirt and vest, smoothing a hand through his loose hair. He then turned to the coffin maker. "Have you been making coffins long?"

"Since I was around 15, I'd say. My father taught me the basics of carpentry, and the first thing I ever made myself was a casket for my dog," Mr Fair said, smiling. He then indicated for Cloud to follow him to the kitchen, where he went about setting up a tea kettle. "Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, thank you," Cloud sat down at the table, taking in the slightly chipped and roughed-up quality of the wood. He raised an eyebrow curiously. "This table is well worn."

"Ah, yeah. My father made that when I was still small and my mother was still around," Mr Fair said, glancing back at the table. "I'm no good at tables, so I don't bother trying to replace it. It's still good, just a little scratched." He grabbed two cups from his cabinet, going around to find sugar and milk. "So, you want a casket, hm? Who's it for?"

"My mother. She recently died of consumption, and I don't want to pay the funeral home for some second quality casket."

"I see. I'm sorry for your loss." Mr Fair leaned back against the counter as he waited for the water to boil, looking at Cloud with open curiousity. Cloud shrugged simply, looking away from him uncomfortably.

"We did not care much for each other, but I did respect her enough to bury her in something better than what was offered." He saw the other man nod from his peripheral, before he glanced towards him again. "Why do you not make anything else other than coffins?"

"I'm no good at anything else. Chairs are too complex, tables too boring, and dressers get damaged too easily. Coffins take a while to make, if I'm making them good quality, but at least I don't have to worry about replacing it or being bored making one." He smiled a little then. "I must sound fairly odd, hm?"

"Not at all, Mr Fair. To each one's own," Cloud said simply, leaning back against the chair. Mr Fair smiled then, turning to the kettle once it started to loudly whine.

"Please call me Zack, Mr Strife. Coffin-making may take several weeks depending on how much detail you want in the casket; we will be seeing each other often."

"I see," Cloud murmured, accepting the cup of tea when it was given to him, adding a bit of sugar and ignoring the milk placed in front of him. "Then please feel free in calling me Cloud."

"Well then," Zack said with a sudden grin, leaning forward and holding out his hand. "It'll be a pleasure doing business with you, Cloud."

Cloud stared at the bandaged hand for a moment before smiling slightly and grasping it in his own, shaking once. "Indeed."

* * *

It continued to rain the following week, though Cloud hardly noticed.

He spent his early mornings in the inn's sitting room, drinking tea and eating light foods with Mrs Gainsborough as she explained to him each other the people in the village, as she knew them all.

There was the Kisaragi couple, Yuffie and Tseng, who had moved to England from the far off island of Japan. The two spoke rough English, and only knew a few phrases, yet they were perfectly pleasant people who sold little trinkets that Yuffie crafted out of clay and painted with bright colours, mementos of their homeland.

Then there was the Highwind family, which consisted of Shera and her husband Cid, as well as two children; a young girl named Marlene who loved to pick flowers and a slightly older boy named Denzel who was fiercely protective of his young sister. The two had moved to the small village from London, wanting to live outside of the crowds and constantly changing trends and social cliques.

There was Mr Lockhart, the man from the fish market, and his nephew Reno Sinclair who came to live with his uncle after having a falling out with his father in a fishing village along the coast. Because of Reno's close ties to most of the fishermen from his village, and because of his uncle's mind for profit, the two opened a fish market to sell the fish Reno's friends brought to make some money.

Mr Lockhart also had a daughter, yet Mrs Gainsborough did not speak much on her, saying that it was not her place to say.

There was the pastor, Father Wallace, a dark man who was gruff on the outside but completely gentle on the inside. He often allowed travellers to stay in the church's halls if they could not afford a room at the inn, feeding them and making sure they were comfortable. He was also fiercely protective of children, and often doted on Marlene and Denzel, some of the only children in the village, treating them as his own children.

Mrs Gainsborough herself had lived in the village since she was born, as her great grandmother had moved into the village with her great grandfather after they had stolen away to get married, even though it went against their parents' wishes.

"It was quite the scandal, so I heard," Mrs Gainsborough had said with a smile. "But so very romantic."

She also had a daughter, though she died two years prior due to cholera. Her name had been Aeris, and she had been very close to Zack.

"When she died, he had been inconsolable for months. He spent weeks afterwards working on her coffin, creating one of the most beautiful caskets I have ever laid eyes on; and all of Zack's pieces are lovely."

Then there was, of course, Zack Fair himself.

"Zack has lived in this village since his birth. His father, my brother, married a woman in the city and brought her here so that they could live happily and raise a family quietly together. He took up carpentry, and she would write pamphlets for the church at the request of Father Wallace. She had a very neat hand, you see. However, after she gave birth to Zack she became very ill and was forced to stay in the house in bed for many years after. I helped care for Zack, of course, as she was my sister-in-law and therefore family and families care of one another. She died when Zack was only ten. My brother refused to marry afterwards and made furniture for everyone in the village for free." She had sighed after this, looking more tired than Cloud had ever seen her.

In the afternoons, after listening to Mrs Gainsborough's stories and eating his breakfast, he would walk in the village itself. He would look at the trinkets that Mrs Kisaragi sold and have a hot chocolate in Mrs Highwind's café. He would look at the quality of clocks Mrs Highwind sold and speak lightly to Reno Sinclair about the fishing industry. He was often found visiting the church, speaking with Father Wallace and every once in a while he would entertain Marlene and Denzel who begged him to play once they became comfortable with his presence in the village.

Nearing the afternoon he would leave the main part of the village and walk to the edge to see Zack, discussing plans for the casket and what he wanted for the design. This took a week before Cloud was happy with both design and price, and once they had agreed to a plan, they shook hands and Zack got started on his next piece.

Cloud found that he enjoyed watching Zack measure the wood for the correct size, sawing through it carefully with his well-kept tools and laying aside extra pieces in case they could be of use for some other project in the future. For the first couple of days he had just watched in silence, perfectly content to stay quiet as Zack worked. However, one day Zack spoke up, smilingly asking if was enjoying his stay in the village.

After that, the two spoke quietly as Zack worked, trading stories and telling a few secrets they hadn't told others.

"I remember my mother clearly," Zack had told him once as he was comparing two panels of wood to make sure they were the same size. "She was a lovely lady, to be sure, but very weak looking. I don't think she should have had children, but she went ahead and had me. Every once in a while, when Father was busy making something for someone in the village, I would sneak into Mother's room and she would tell me secrets; things like how she hated living in the country and how she hadn't wanted to marry my father but she did because it was what was expected of her. I think the first time I had ever heard her tell my father she loved him was the night she died."

After these visits with Zack, he would return to the inn and have dinner by himself, before retiring to his room for the night.

Over a short period of time, Cloud had started to feel more at home in this tiny village than he had ever felt in his own home in London.

* * *

When he woke up to rain against his window, he didn't react and simply got dressed, having half expected it anyway.

He dressed more casually that day, deciding to forgo the tie and just donned on a simple, bold coloured vest dyed a soft blue-grey colour. Once dressed, he left his room as he always did and made his way to the sitting room where he saw Mrs Gainsborough setting up breakfast as she always did.

"Good morning, Elmyra," he greeted, bending down and kissing her cheek lightly. Over the few weeks he had been in the village, the two had become close and had thought it only right to call each other by first name.

"Good morning, Cloud dear," she replied with a kind smile, touching his cheek lightly with pale fingers before motioning for him to sit. "How are you today?"

"Very well, thank you. I was thinking of going to the graveyard today, to visit your daughter Aeris."

"Oh," Mrs Gainsborough looked over at him in shock, eyes wide before she smiled softly and walked over to him, placing a cup of tea in front of him. "Well…that would be very kind of you, Cloud." She paused, before smiling at him hopefully. "Would you take something there for me?"

"Of course," Cloud replied immediately, not bothering to question why she wouldn't go herself. Perhaps it was because she did not want to see her own daughter's gravestone. She nodded, leaving the room briefly as Cloud picked up an orange and began to peel it carefully, his nose being hit with the strong citrus flavour. Mrs Gainsborough returned after a moment with an envelope, the name 'Aeris' written in neat handwriting on the front. "This is what you wish delivered?"

"Yes, please," she said, handing the letter to him. "I know it is foolish of me to write to a dead woman, but…I just feel like I need to let her know some things."

"Of course," Cloud nodded, tucking the letter inside his vest before chewing on a piece of orange. Mrs Gainsborough stood there awkwardly for a moment before she sat down with him, fiddling with her own cup of tea. "Are you all right, Elmyra?"

"Hm? Oh, I'm fine Cloud, dear. I'm just thinking to myself; don't mind me." He nodded, watching her carefully as he finished off his orange and his tea. They sat there in silence for a little more before Cloud finally stood and pulled on his jacket and overcoat, adjusting both before he was comfortable. He turned to the inn's proprietor for a moment, before nodding to her quietly.

"I shall see you this evening, then, Elmyra."

"Yes, yes, of course. Enjoy your day, Cloud." She looked at him vaguely for a moment, smiling before turning back to look into her tea, as if waiting for it to tell the answers to everything. He left without another word.

Walking down the quiet streets, he noted that everyone seemed oddly absent. He did not see Mrs Kisaragi in either the little shop she and her husband had claimed as their own or the café talking to Mrs Highwind; he did not see Mrs Highwind bustling about in her bakery, pulling out loaves of bread and cinnamon rolls and pies; he did not see Mr Highwind tinkering away in his clock shop, muttering to himself and staining his arms. He glanced to the church to see that all of the lights were on, and that the doors were open, which was odd, until he remembered what day it was

Sunday. A day of rest and a time to spend with God.

Cloud frowned, looking at the church and wondering if he should go into the mass…and wondering why Mrs Gainsborough hadn't gone to church that morning. In fact, he had noticed that Mrs Gainsborough rarely, if ever, went to church, and he had to wonder why.

Shrugging to himself, he walked towards the church, yet did not enter its open doors. Instead, he turned to the gate that separated the graveyard from the rest of the field, and pushed it open quietly, walking in.

The graveyard was well kept, he noted as he carefully walked the grass, almost as if he were afraid to step on the people resting below. Father Wallace must have kept it clean and tidy in respect to the dead that were buried there. He read each other names, noting people he had heard of including Mrs Gainsborough's husband, Zack's parents and finally, near the back of the graveyard with a slightly smaller gravestone he saw Aeris Gainsborough's name.

He also saw that someone was standing in front of it.

The girl was slightly shorter than him, with long, light brown hair that fell to the small of her back and was kept in a sort of twisted braid, held together by a pink ribbon. She wore what seemed to be a sleeveless nightgown, which was highly improper and odd, as it was chilly and raining; she didn't seem to mind. Her feet were bare, and her hands were folded behind her back as she stared at the gravestone before her. A second later, she looked over her shoulder and blinked widely at the sight of him.

Her eyes were a bright green, and her face shape reminded him of Elmyra, yet he knew he had never seen her or any pictures of her around the inn.

"…Hello," he said after a moment, watching as shock filtered through her expression before she smiled brightly. She spun around, clasping her hands together and Cloud's eyes unconsciously diverted to watch as her skirt swirled around her legs, showing off a flash of ankle. He felt heat creep up the back of his neck as he quickly averted his eyes.

"Oh, hello!" she greeted brightly, smiling widely; it vaguely reminded him of Zack's cheerful smiles. "I haven't seen you here before! What is your name?"

"Cloud," he said, wondering inwardly why he hadn't said his last name as well. She bobbed her head, still smiling. "And yours?"

"Mine?" she pointed to herself, before she seemed to think for a moment. A sly smile came to her lips then. "I think I want you to guess," she said with a grin. "It'll be more fun that way, right?"

"…I suppose," Cloud said slowly, unsure of what to think of this woman before him. "…Why are you dressed in your night things?"

"Well…I just…" she hesitated before smiling a little. "I wanted to come visit everyone, and I didn't want to worry about getting dressed and being fussy, so I just came straight here from my bed." She shrugged. "It is terribly inappropriate, but usually no one but Father Wallace comes to the graveyard."

"Why is that?" He had noticed the same when he had mentioned plans on visiting the graveyard before to other villagers. They all became uncomfortable, falling silent and contemplative just as Mrs Gainsborough had done that day.

"I don't know. Perhaps they believe it's haunted?" She tilted her head to the side curiously before shrugging to herself. "Ah well! It doesn't really matter. I visit them, and you're visiting! I think that's all they need to make them happy."

He didn't say anything about how he didn't think the dead had emotions after they died, feeling that it would be very inappropriate as he _was_ there to pay his respects.

"So, who did you come to see?"

"Aeris Gainsborough," he said immediately, pulling out the letter Mrs Gainsborough had given to him. "I am staying in her mother's inn, and her mother asked me to deliver a letter to her."

"Oh," the girl watched as he stepped forward, kneeling carefully on the ground before the gravestone. He placed the letter lightly on the stone, looking at it for a moment before he stood and turned to look at the girl.

She was gone.

Curious as to where she had gone, he shrugged to himself and left the graveyard quietly, heading towards Zack's home to spend the rest of the day with him.

When they were in their places in the workshop, Cloud started the conversation.

"Is there a girl with long brown hair and green eyes in this village?"

Zack paused in his measuring of the back panel of wood, where he would cut the corners off of to make the customary design of caskets. He looked over at him then, his face carefully blank as he put down his measuring tape.

"…Not that I know of, why?"

"I saw a girl like that in the graveyard today. She was in her nightgown and bare feet, which I found odd considering the weather." He rested his chin in his palm, watching as slowly Zack went back to work, his eyes oddly drawn. He then thought of something. "Why aren't you at church?"

"I don't go to church in October."

Cloud raised his eyebrows in surprise, looking at the hardworking man with curiousity written all over his face. Zack glanced at him, smiling weakly. "My cousin Aeris died in October."

"Ah." That made sense. He wondered if maybe that was why Mrs Gainsborough had not gone to church that day, either. He shrugged to himself then, deciding it really wasn't his business.

"I've never seen you at church, Cloud," Zack said then, glancing over at him with a curious little smile. "Why is that?"

"I stopped going once I left my home," Cloud said blandly, staring at the panels of wood on the table that would soon become a box. Zack would then start to define the box into a casket, and then he would start to carve in patterns on the lid before lining it with soft velvet and putting hinges on the lid so that they would be able to put his mother's body in it. He wondered briefly if his brother Rufus had yet to have the body prepared for the funeral or if he was letting it rot in the house like he had threatened to before he left.

"Why is that?"

"I never really saw the use in sitting on a hard bench for an hour to listen to an old man mumble through ancient texts," he shrugged, sitting back and folding his hands over his stomach. "I only entered a church after I left for my wedding."

"You're married?"

"Divorced," Cloud smirked, closing his eyes. "She was having an affair and I was just tired of her using my money at her own whim, so I divorced her and let her go to her poor actor. Last I heard she was selling ribbons on the street, trying to make some sort of income."

"That's terrible," Zack said, looking at him with wide eyes. "Why didn't you give her something when you divorced?"

"I didn't want her spending the money uselessly, as I knew she would have. She was not the most money conscious of people."

"Ah," Zack nodded, looking back to his work. A silence fell over them, before Cloud looked at Zack. "Have you ever been married?"

Zack paused once again, his hand resting over the cutting tool he had been reaching for before he smiled slightly and nodded. "I was once, a long time ago. We were both young."

"What was her name?"

"Tifa Lockhart." Cloud raised his eyebrows at the familiar last name. "You've probably heard about her from Aunt Elmyra. She was Mr Lockhart's daughter, and the most beautiful girl in the village. I fell in love with her in an instant." Zack sighed, pushing back from his table to walk over to a shelf that held pictures. He picked one up, walking over to Cloud and showing it to him. "That's her, there."

A young woman stood in the picture, still smiling even though the waiting time between the camera going off and the actual picture was dragging. She wore what seemed to be a lovely white gown in the sepia-toned photograph, with dark hair that was pulled back in a high twist, and bright dark eyes that laughed at the cameraman. Zack stood next to her, looking like the happiest man in the world, his arm around her shoulder, his left hand resting over her hands which clutched to a bouquet.

"She's lovely," he said, handing the picture back to her. "But I haven't seen her around. What happened to her?"

"She was murdered," Zack said softly, putting the picture back on the shelf. Cloud's eyes became wide with shock and horror at the mention of murder. "She went out one night to the graveyard to visit Aeris—she had died by then. They found her in the morning, strangled."

"I am very sorry, Zack."

"It's fine," Zack waved his hand lightly and sighing. "I have moved on. I just hope that she is happy in heaven." He then turned back to his work table and picked up the cutting tool he had been reaching for, carefully sawing through the wood of the panel he was working on.

They did not talk for the rest of Cloud's stay.

* * *

It was quickly becoming dark as Cloud made his way home, yet he didn't bother trying to hurry his steps. He was perfectly content walking the empty streets, as it gave him time to think to himself.

However, something caught his eye and he turned to see the girl from before sitting on the same gravestone, looking up at the stars. Without a second thought, he walked to the graveyard, stopping in front of the girl.

"Hello again."

"Where did you go this morning?" he asked instead of replying, raising an eyebrow at her questioningly. She looked down at him, smiling slightly before she shrugged.

"Secret," she said with a wink before hopping off of the gravestone and walking up to him. She poked his chest lightly then, grinning. "So, Mr Cloud, what brings you to this little village?"

He stared at her for a moment, contemplating the idea of demanding her to answer him, before he decided he didn't really care. After all, everyone was allowed their own privacy. "Coffins," he said vaguely, looking up at the sky. He heard her light laugh as she realized he was going to be just as vague as she was.

"So you're here to see Zack."

He looked at her for a moment, wondering how she knew Zack before shrugging and nodding.

"Someone you love die?"

He shrugged; he didn't know if he could call what he felt for his mother 'love'.

"Family?"

He nodded once, running his fingers through his hair briefly. Her eyes flicked to it, before she gazed back at him.

"Who?"

"My mother," he said, looking at her. "Don't bother apologizing, though. We were never very fond of one another."

"That's a shame," she said with a light frown. She back away from him before she started to slowly start to spin in a circle. "Mothers and children should always love each other."

"Is that so?" Cloud asked, not really caring but interested to hear what she had to say. She nodded, pausing in her spinning and looked up at him.

"Of course. Mothers bring children into the world, completing their world. Children depend on mothers to raise them to be proper adults, creating their world. They lean on each other. It's only right if they love one another."

"An interesting theory," Cloud murmured before glancing up at the sky again. He could see rain clouds were gathering; the brief lull in the rainfall would end soon. "I believe I shall take my leave of you. I am expected for dinner."

"Of course," the girl said, looking over at him again before smiling. "Come visit me again sometime, all right?"

"…That would be fine."

* * *

For the next week or so, Cloud's schedule stayed relatively the same with the addition to visiting the strange girl in the graveyard. He had not asked Mrs Gainsborough or any of the other villagers outside of Zack who she was, as he had a feeling no one would know. He never saw her anywhere else in the village except in the graveyard, and she was always in her nightgown and bare feet. He no longer bothered to ask why she was dressed in such a state.

Following the beginning of the third week of this slightly altered routine, Cloud noted that the girl was nowhere to be found in the graveyard as he made his way to Zack's residence. He thought nothing of it, though, until he came to Zack's home and saw Zack waiting outside for him, looking at him with an odd expression.

"Good afternoon, Zack," he greeted, walking up to the steps, pausing as he saw Zack's expression had yet to change. He frowned a bit, his brows knitting together in a confused manner. "Is something the matter?"

"Hm? Oh, no. Forgive me; I was thinking." Zack smiled slightly, though it seemed off before he waved Cloud up. "It's good to see you, Cloud." Cloud came up the steps, standing in front of his friend as he stood there for a moment, seemingly falling back into thought. "I finished the coffin last night."

"Did you?" Cloud asked, smiling slightly. "Excellent. May I see it?"

Zack turned to look at him, his eyes narrowed slightly before he nodded slowly. "Of course."

The older man led the blond to the workshop, opening the door and allowing Cloud to enter first. Cloud stepped in, looking around the slightly dark room when suddenly the door was shut behind him, pitching them in complete blackness.

"Zack?" he called out curiously. He felt a hand on his shoulder and tensed, only to relax as he heard Zack speak by his ear.

"Right here, Cloud," he murmured, lips close to his ear. Cloud shivered a bit, wondering why Zack was so close to him. He felt the other push him slightly forward, and he allowed himself to walk blindly forward. He stopped when his hips hit the table and he reached forward, touching the smooth expanse of wood under his fingers. "One second, I'll light the lamp."

"All right," Cloud murmured, allowing his fingers to trail across the wood. His fingers ran over the designs carved in, frowning as the lines looped in a design different than the one he had ordered. "Zack, is this the right casket?"

Suddenly, the room was filled with light as Zack lit the kerosene lamp. He looked over to his friend, watching as he shook out the smoke from the match he had struck; his face seemed gaunt and warped in the different light. He turned to look at Cloud then, his dark blue eyes seeming black.

"It's the right one," he said simply, folding his hands behind his back.

Cloud frowned, looking at the casket again to see that it was completely different from the one he had ordered. Yet before he could saw anything he felt hands wrap around his waist, fingers grasping the material of his vest over his chest. "Oh Zack, isn't he just lovely?" a familiar voice spoke softly behind his ear. His eyes widened as he recognized it as the girl's from the graveyard.

"Indeed," Zack murmured, lowering his eyes and hunching his shoulders to his ears.

"You want to keep him too, don't you?" The girl asked, resting her chin on Cloud's shoulder. He glanced at her to see her smiling sweetly at Zack. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he didn't think he liked it.

"Mm…" Zack shifted his feet, closing his eyes before looking at the girl. "Aeris, are you sure we should do this? He doesn't belong here."

"But he _can_!" Aeris said with a smile, grinning brightly. "He already fits in here so well! Why not let him stay?"

"I don't know…"

"Zack," Aeris suddenly let go of Cloud, walking around him to stand before him. Cloud noticed for the first time that Zack was wearing the exact same clothes he had worn the first day Cloud had ever seen him. "You have told me time and time again that you don't want him to leave, that you've grown fond of him. He doesn't _have to go_. You can keep him here. It's very simple. Why are you trying to complicate things?"

"Because I don't think this is right," Zack said, narrowing his eyes at his deceased cousin. Cloud briefly wondered to himself why he wasn't panicking more. "It's his life and we can't play with it."

"Zack, will you listen to me for a moment?" Aeris asked then, her voice gentle. Zack winced, and Cloud realized that Aeris must have never gotten that quiet unless her patience was gone. "We have worked for weeks on this. You have said yourself, every time I ask you, that you want this. You want to keep him. You want him to stay." She narrowed her eyes. "Grow a backbone and stick with your decisions."

Sighing softly, Zack only nodded and closed his eyes as his hands fisted tightly at his sides. Aeris then turned to Cloud, smiling at him kindly as she stepped towards him.

"You want to stay here, don't you Cloud?"

"…I have a mother to bury and a life in London," Cloud said softly, narrowing his eyes at the girl. "I cannot stay here, no matter my own personal feelings." He took a step back then, folding his hands behind his back to seem relaxed yet he felt anything but. "I think I need to leave now, Zack. Shall I come back tomorrow for the proper casket?"

"I already said this is the right one, Cloud," Zack said softly, looking at him. "This is the one I made for you." He stepped towards the worktable then, lifting the lid to show soft black velvet lining the inside. "I made it with you in mind."

"I'm not dead," Cloud said, feeling as if he were stating the obvious. "It was very nice of you to make a coffin with me in mind, but as I am _alive_, I do not need one."

Zack just sighed while Aeris smiled at him, the grin wider than it had been before. "Cloud, why do you want to leave so badly? Does your life in London matter that much?"

"I have a job, a firm I am in charge of, and family matters I must settle. I do not have the time to spend my time leisurely in a small village with a ghost girl."

Aeris giggled then. "Oh, Cloud, you're so silly," she said, hiding her smile behind her hand. She then turned to look at Zack, nodding to him. "All right, Cloud. I think it's time you stop being silly and just admit you want to stay."

"I have already told you, I cannot stay."

Aeris turned her gaze towards him then, and he felt the blood in his veins freeze as her eyes settled on him. It was cold, calculating and completely void of any of the good humour she had had before.

Cloud stepped back again to run from the two when he suddenly lost his footing and fell back, gasping as he landed within the casket with the black velvet. The lid was suddenly shut and he started to panic, hitting against the lid, trying to push it up but to no avail.

"Cloud, I suggest you stay quiet now."

* * *

Deep in the grey landscape of England, far from the bustling city of London, sat a quiet little village that had been barren of people in over fifty years.

The cobblestone roads were covered in cracks, the buildings that lined the streets run down and falling apart. Mrs Highwind's bakery had it's windows broken, Mr Highwind's clock shop had broken clocks that sat around the grounds, collecting dust and rust. Mr Lockhart's fish market was filled with rotting fish heads and guts, the door broken down, the singles falling off. The little church in the back where Father Wallace had kept mass was run down with vines growing over the door and windows, the bell from the tower having been stolen many years ago by random children. The graveyard was overgrown and a jungle with barely any semblance to a graveyard.

In the back, on the very edge of the village, was a rundown building with a wraparound porch, tower, and many windows. The gate was pushed open, tangled within overgrown grass, the door was scratched and the shutters were all hanging off or broken.

Yet if one were to go to the workshop behind the building, they would see hundreds of coffins surrounding the small building, each beautifully and delicately made. And if one were to look into each other these coffins, they would see the bones of the villagers who had once lived there.

And if one were to look into the workshop, they would see the finest casket that they had ever laid eyes on, and inside would be a beautiful man with fair blond hair, pale skin and rich clothing to show his stature. And they would see in the corner the skeleton of the coffin maker Mr Fair, who put all of his heart and devotion into making these coffins, because 'he had to'.

He was the coffin maker.


End file.
